Ballad Of A Fallen Angel
by Jopeth23
Summary: An alternate ending to the Chapter 17 of my fic, "Hillwood Noir". A three-shot series which will explore all the possible outcomes after the intense standoff between Helga and Neptune. This will answer the three questions: what if the other blonde survives? What if NONE of the blondes survive? And what if BOTH of the blondes survive? Rated M for violence, gore, and strong language.
1. Ballad of a Fallen Angel

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold!, its characters and setting, and the lyrics to the song "Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien" by Edith Piaf.**

**The chain-smoking, frequently-friendzoned, caffeine-addicted author of "Hillwood Noir" presents you this three-shot series. This is the alternate endings/events to the Chapter 17 of the said fic.**

**Ballad Of A Fallen Angel**

_A green eyed blond god came upon her, his face hovering above hers, giggling, laughing. He touched her face. It felt so warm._

_It felt so good._

_It felt so peaceful._

_The he opened his lips, his sweet voice echoed through the ethereal unearthly realm she was in right now._

_"You're beautiful..."_

_"Your eyes...sparkle like the ocean on a sunny day..."_

_"Come with me..."_

_"We shall be together..."_

_"Forever..."_

_"...and ever."_

_"Always..."_

_"Always..."_

_"Always."_

**+-=NOIR=-+ +-=NOIR=-+ +-=NOIR=-+ **

The dull light of the halogen lamp began to flood her sight. Damn too bright. It hurt her eyes so much that she has to squint a bit to ease the pain. Her body was sore all over. A splitting headache rocked her senses as she struggled to lift her head to get a better look of her surroundings. She tried to shield her eyes from the burning light, but her hands were being held back by some invisible force. The more she struggled to lift her hands to shield her eyes from the piercing light, the more it hurt.

_"Am I dead? Is this the afterlife?"_

She opened her mouth, struggled to let out a scream, but no voice came out. Instead, nausea hit her, and a flood of bile rose up from her stomach, flooding her throat, causing her to cough violently. The fluid shot painfully through her nose and mouth, and dripped down to her chin and to her shirt. She spitted out the remaining fluid from her mouth, leaving a metallic tangy aftertaste. _Blood,_ she thought as she licked her swollen, broken lips clean. As senses slowly normalized, she began to perceive her surroundings, and the dire situation she was in at the moment.

She was realized that she was bound in a chair, in a room lit by a single halogen lamp. As her eyes became accustomed to the burning light, she slowly formed the images of the wooden crates stacked on top of each other, tangled mess of coiled manilla rope, and random scraps of metal littered the floor. She must be in some sort of a warehouse. Was this the same one where their deal had gone bad, and had ended in a standoff?

An old-timey crackly music that seemed to had come from an old-fashioned gramophone softly played in the background. She strained her hearing trying to make out the tune and lyrics of the song that was being played. It took a few minutes to realize that the song was an old French tune that she must have heard in an old cafe, or probably in her music appreciation class back in high school.

_"Non... rien de rien _

_Non je ne regrette rien _

_Ni le bien... qu'on m'a fait _

_Ni le mal, tout ça m'est bien égale..._

_Non... rien de rien _

_Non... je ne regrette rien _

_C'est payé, balayé, oublié _

_Je me fous du passé..."_

The last moments of her consciousness began flooding into her head. The image of a gun muzzle staring directly at her. The moment she pulled the trigger. The deafening gunshot before she lost consciousness.

Did she get her? Did she finally kill that _blonde whore_?

Summoning what remained of her strength, she heaved her breath and let out a whimper.

_"Dammit...cut me loose..."_

Her whimper were unanswered. Suddenly, footsteps echoed through the darkness, getting closer and closer. A hulking shadow emerged from the shadows and stood before her. The shadow then turned its head to the side and called out.

"Boss, she's awake."

Then footsteps echoed once more from the darkness, this time, lighter and each step rang out with feminine grace. A womanly shadow emerged from the darkness and stood beside the hulking shadow, staring at her.

"Good morning, sunshine. How's your sleep?" she greeted her mockingly in her hoarse, wheezy voice.

She could only reply with a groan as she stared at the womanly shadow, trying to make out her features. Her vision became a bit clearer now. From her feminine outline, she can see the dull halogen light diffused through her light flaxen hair. _That blonde whore! _She did not get her after all. Dammit, she cursed herself. She felt her bonds cut through her skin as she struggled to break free from her bonds.

_"How many times do I have to shoot you bitch to kill you?!"_

"You...you're still alive...I...I've shot you..." she said, gasping for breath for her every word.

"Yes, you have shot me...and I'm obviously alive..." she replied, trying to hide her wheezing.

"But how...?"

"Two words," she raised her forefinger and middle finger. "Kevlar. Vest. You think I'm stupid enough to leave home without it, knowing that I'll be dealing with the _likes of you_?"

Of course, a Kevlar vest! How else would she survive a gunshot at such close range without a Kevlar vest? She should have known that, and should have aimed _a bit higher_ and at that _airhead_ of hers to splatter her brains out to kingdom come! She laughed a bit, and let a defeated sigh.

"Clever girl...but you should have killed me...keeping me alive is dangerous...you know," she said in a whispery voice, trying her best to smirk at her.

"I _meant_ to do just that, if it isn't for that stupid bullet that grazed your head and knocked you cold. I guess you got lucky that time," the womanly shadow chuckled, still wheezing.

The female shadow drew closer to her and locked her icy cold stare at her eyes, "But I'm afraid this is where your lucky run ends, girlfriend." She gazed back at those fiery _amethyst eyes, _and broke a bitter smile.

"That was just a fluke, you bitch. Congratulations anyhow, _Neptune_."

"Thank you," she smiled back, and gave the defeated blonde a sisterly kiss on the cheek.

"So you got me here...what are you planning? _Kill me?_" Helga smirked.

"Pataki, like you've told you before, in this game of thrones, _you either win or die. There is no middle ground,"_ Neptune said sternly.

"If I let you live, and make you promise you wouldn't do anything stupid, or leave Hillwood not to return again, I know you will only bide your time until you can regain your strength and plot your vengeance. I know how dangerous you were to be left alive, and I have to admit, the outcome of our next faceoff might not turn _in my favor_."

Her survival instinct kicked in at that instant. The animal within her pushed her to scream at Neptune, beg for mercy, promise to do no more harm, to leave her and Arnold alone for eternity, hell, she could have Arnold _all for herself_ for all she cared, to leave Hillwood and never return. Anything that would convince Helga to spare her skin and get out of this hellhole in one piece.

But she's more than that. She's the Blonde Devil. With Neptune winning this battle, she knew she lost a sizeable chunk of power and prestige in the Hillwood afterworld. Gammelthorpe, Escobar, and Di Gialo, those were her three biggest "vassals", which she always kept in line through a show of force, through fear, and clever dealings and maneuvering. But with them now on Neptune's side, she will be reduced to a mere paper tiger: all threats, but actually no power and means to enforce her power and will on the rest of the West Hillwood underworld.

Oh how Curly would laugh at her and sneer at her out of pity and disdain. Escobar? He would itching to get his hands on her after she blackmailed him mercilessly about being the biggest _gay_ in Hillwood. And Big Gino? She could only shudder to think how he will get back to her after she mercilessly butchered his dearest pets.

No sunshine awaits her outside these walls. She would rather accept the inevitable, and bow down to her fate like a proud warrior, than to live in shame and humiliation.

"A wise decision, Neptune. I have to be honest, if you let me live, I will make sure that you would _regret_ the moment that you made me walk out of that door unscathed," Helga said, with a hint of pride in her voice.

Neptune was momentarily taken aback upon hearing Helga's words. This is not the first time she held someone at gunpoint, and this is definitely the first time she took someone's life. Normally at this point, they would be screaming at her, grovelling, begging for mercy, bargaining for their lives, or more often than not, cursing her to rot eternally in hell.

But _not Helga. _Her pride is her greatest strength, and her greatness weakness as well. And the cause of her downfall as well.

There she was, gazing at her with her steely sapphire eyes, accepted her hopeless situation and resigned to her fate, yet took everything with pride and dignity. So she wants to go down nobly. So she wants to gracefully exit the stage. So she wants to die a proud warrior's death.

_And so she will have it. _

"Very well then. I assure you, this will be quick and painless," Neptune nodded, drawing out her Desert Eagle.

"You indulge me, Neptune," Helga smirked at her. Then, a thick silence began to pervade between them. Helga then spoke up.

"What happened to my men. Sid and Lou...?"

"Beats me," Neptune said, turning her attention to her handgun, pressing the magazine release, catching the empty clip as it fell out of the gun. "Last time I checked, they were blown to smithereens by an RPG. No one could've survived a direct hit like that."

A cold shiver enveloped her body. Sid and Lou, her two most trusted retainers. No, it can't be...

_"Sid...Lou...forgive me..."_

Helga cursed beneath her breath, "Dammit..."

She knew it. The men that Vladimir sent could not be trsuted. They must have fled at the first sign that the battle was going against them_. Cowards. _What could you expect of mercenaries, whose loyalties lies on your cash, and not to the ideals, pride, honor, or whatever ends you hired them for.

She watched her as she gingerly loaded bullets on the clip of her handgun. So this was what it felt like, she thought, to wait and watch someone get ready to bring you to your death. It felt like a sheep meekly watching a butcher sharpen his cleaver. She can't help but to feel a pang of fear rise up from his gut, and send shivers to her whole body.

"So you have won the throne to the West Hillwood," Helga said out of nowhere, trying to relieve some of the tension by initiating a small talk with Neptune. "Congratulations. Enjoy your glory as long as you can. For it will be anything but short-lived."

Neptune gave her a glare, and snarled a bit. That snarl caused a jolt of pain to shoot through her chest. She must have cracked a rib or two when her Kevlar armor caught the bullet at such close range. Is she trying a pull off something here? Nah, it couldn't be. Most of her hired mercenaries were either killed or had already fled when they saw that the battle was going against their favor. Her bodyguards had been blown up to bits. Helga had resigned to her fate, and she's basically going to be _dead_ in a few minutes. Is this some kind of useless bravado, or is there any substance to her threat? She might indulge the dead woman on her last minutes.

"Short-lived? How so?" Neptune asked, raising an eyebrow as she loaded the last bullet into the clip.

Helga cackled shrilly, "Yes, short-lived. For after the glory, comes the constant dread and paranoia. You shall spend the rest of your days watching your back, and the nights wondering if you will still wake up alive the next day in fear that an assassin in the darkness lurks and wants to put you into ah early grave."

"You think you can trust your newly-found allies? Think again. Gammelthorpe? I would rather trust a snake to sleep with me in my bed rather than to trust him. He is a sycophant, and he is constantly waiting for a chance to jump on you and use you for his own ends. Escobar? He couldn't care any less for loyalty and shit like that. What he cares for is power, and how you could be of benefit for him. Di Gialo? Oh please. That son of a bitch got his own ambitions in taking over your throne."

"No, you can _hardly_ trust anyone in the West Hillwood underworld. Someone is always whispering behind your back, plotting your downfall. Someone is dying to know your deepest, darkest secret, hoping to use it as an ammunition against you. You can't even trust your own right hand, _literally_ and figuratively."

"It's a lonely up there in the top, Neptune," Helga said to her gravely. "One you get the taste of power, it's like crack. It will eat your sould little by little each day, but you can't seem to give it up so easily."

Neptune chuckled and shook her head, pushed the magazine back to into the handgun, and faced Neptune.

She holstered her Desert Eagle back to her waist. Helga kept on talking, "You should know that I took the trouble of running a background check on you, as it is my S.O.P. whenever I do business with a new face. The weird thing is that..." She narrowed her eyes on her. "_You don't seem to exist."_

Neptune was silent, keeping a blank stare at Helga.

"No identification papers, official documents that could confirm your identity, no nothing. I started to suspect that you're an undercover cop, but my contacts in the force confirmed that you're not."

"How you continued to exist without any identity except as a violet-eyed blonde who calls herself after a planet baffles me," Helga continued.

"Who _are you, Neptune?_ Was that _even your name_?" Helga stared at her blank amethyst eyes.

Silence. Neptune was just staring at her, forcing a weak smile. Finally, a soft reply came.

_"Kensley..."_

"Kensley?" Helga repeated.

She nodded.

"Well..." Helga fumbled for a moment. "Kensley.." Helga first snickered, then unable to contain herself, burst into laughter.

"Bwahahahahahahahahahaahah!"

She scowled at Helga, who is now in tears from laughing, "What the fuck, Pataki?!"

"Nothing...it's just that..." she started laughing again. "...your name is _Kensley_?!"

"What's wrong with my name?" she snarled at Helga.

"Nothing..._Kensley_...bwahahahaha!" she burst in laughter again.

Annoyed, Kensley whipped out her handgun and pointed it at Helga, who was still snickering even at gunpoint.

"Shut up, Pataki! I'll make sure that you'll carry the secret of my real name to your grave!"

At that point, Helga stopped laughing and fixed her gaze at Kensley, who is now staring daggers at her.

"Kensley?" Helga asked after a few moments of silence.

"Yes?" she asked back gruffly.

"On Chez Paris, you offered to cancel my order and refund the deposit, and for ke to stand down. That didn't make any sense. Did you do that to spite me?"

She shook her head, "Not out of spite, but _love_."

Helga gave her a confused look, "Love?"

"Yes, believe it or not, I love him, Helga. I want to spare you from the humiliating defeat because I don't want him to be sad when he sees you in a destitute situation. _To see him sad_ pains me."

"Bullshit," Helga snarled at her.

"I love him Helga...love him." She declared, tears beginning to well on her amethyst eyes, smiling.

"You lie, you bitch!" Helga hissed. "You used him to gain an upper hand against me. You know he's my weakness. I just wonder why you didn't make full use of him, since that idiot _Football Head_ seems to be head-over-heels _gaga_ over you, and you literally have him in the palm of your hands."

"Because _I love him dearly_, Helga!" she snapped back at her. "At first, I mean to use him as some sort of leverage against you...but then again..." She sobbed and sighed. "_I loved him_..."

Helga gazed at her dewy amethyst eyes. My God, she's not lying. Why would a dying woman lie to her, she thought. She really _did _love him. Poor girl. Was her love drove her to this obsession? Was it love that fueled her motivation to conquer the West Hillwood underworld and oust her from her throne?

Was it love that will cause Kensley to murder Helga, the only one who stood in the way of gainbing his _full love_?

In any case, she's no different from her. A woman who had loved, _and lost._

"Now with me out of the way, you can now claim him back. You have your prize now, Kensley: the man you love, and the throne to the West Hillwood underworld," she said with a bittersweet smile.

"I do not gain any joy from claiming these prizes, Helga. The throne to West Hillwood sounds more of a curse than a reward. As for _him_..." she let out an audible sigh. "He will never be fully mine, even after your death..."

"Everytime he kisses me, I know half of her kisses were meant for me. But deep inside him, I knew that half of those are _meant for you, _Helga. You are lucky, Pataki. You loved him, and you had his whole love for yourself. As for me..." she sniffed a bit. "I will always be a blonde substitue...a stand-in for Helga Pataki."

Helga smiled a bit, "You had him at his best, and I _had him at his worst. _That's why, Kensley. _That's why."_

She then hung her head. She will die without seeing him for one last time, without feeling the warmth of her embrace, without feeling her sweet kisses and caress. Her blond angel. Her light. Her cain.

She looked up and saw Kensley holding out a cellphone to her.

"What's this?"

"A last act of kindness," Kensley replied. "Say your last farewell for him. But don't get any ideas, buster."

A scowl formed on her forehead, "An act of kindness?" she snarled. "Which part of 'I would rather be ass-raped with a cactus than to accept any kindness from you' you did not understand?"

"For him, Helga."

"And what? To clear your guilty conscience, Kensley? No, I shall not give you such comfort. I would gladly go to hell knowing that your conscience shall be gnawed by my memory," she smirked, smiling devilishly at her.

"Up to the last minute, you are still upholding your pride, Pataki," Kensley sighed, shaking her head. "It will be the death of you. I'll show you.."

She pocketed her cellphone, and pointed the muzzle of her Desert Eagle to Helga's forehead.

"You _really loved_ him, Pataki?"

"_An understatement,_" she smiled bitterly at her. "_I fucking worshipped him, you bitch."_ Kensley nodded knowingly.

"Is it time?" she asked, looking at the gleaming barrel of the revolver. Kensely nodded as she aimed her handgun right to her forehead, the muzzle an inch away from her.

"Take care of him...for me..." she whispered, looking straight to the barrel of the revolver, and fixed her gaze at Kensley's amethyst orbs. Her violet eyes were now devoid of all emotions. No sadness. No joy. No anger. Just a plain, blank gaze.

"I will," Kensley softly replied.

_**CLICK!**_

"Any last words, Helga?" Kensley asked as she placed her forefinger on the trigger. A noble warrior deserves her last words to be heard, she thought.

She was silent. Then, a faint smile escaped her swollen lips as she looked straight into Kensley's eyes.

_"I did it my way."_

Kensley nodded a bit and replied, _"Time to take a bow, Helga Pataki."_

_"Adieu, Helga..."_

_..._

_..._

_..._

_**BAANG!**_

_**...**_

_**...**_

_**...**_

A gunshot rang out and echoed back and forth the warehouse. Then silence.

Kensley stood motionless for minutes, her revolver still pointed at her lifeless body. She gazed at her as smoke fizzled out from the muzzle of the Desert Eagle. Her lifeless sapphire eyes still stared blankly at her, pupils dilated. The aftermath would make anybody retch, Kensley included. She heaved out, the bitter bile that built up in the pits of her stomach came gushing out of her, and on to the ground. Helga's head hung limp back, blood gushing forth freely through the gaping jagged hole on her forehead. Almost quarter of her skull had been blown off, her brain matter painted on the chair to which she was bound. And Helga still was still staring at her.

_"Dammit, stop staring at me, bitch!"_

She then holstered her revolver, and placed her palm across her face. Kensley then forced her eyelids shut, putting her in an eternal state of repose. How peaceful she looked! If not for gaping bullet hole and half-smashed skull, one would think that she just fell asleep on her chair.

Her name was Helga G. Pataki, and she will be Helga G. Pataki forever.

Kensley looked at her mutilated body, both with revulsion and pity.

_"Good night, girlfriend. Sweet dreams."_

Kensley averted her gaze away from the bloody corpse that used to be Helga. She let out a deep sigh, her broken rib filled her chest with a stabbing jolt of pain. She was the victor in this war. She usurped her throne at last. She should feel elated, happy at least, after this victory. But why couldn't she bring herself to enjoy or savor this moment of triumph?

This wasn't a sweet victory, as what Helga had told her a few minutes ago. This one _left a bad aftertaste in the mouth._

"Hoshiam," she called out.

"Yes, Mistress?" he replied, emerging from the shadows where he watched the whole proceedings.

"Take care of the body. Dispose of her...the usual way," she said in a flat tone.

"Yes, Mistress. The funeral car is waiting outside."

"And try to find what is left of her two bodyguards. Include them in the casket."

Hoshiam nodded, and let out another sigh. She gazed at her, and thought she saw something glistened from her eyes down to her cheek. _Tears?_ Is Kensley shedding a tear for her fallen blonde foe? It must be. Tears of joy, maybe.

Hoshiam motioned two other men who were in the shadows. Two stocky men emerged and untied her corpse from the chair. They then placed her on a makeshift stretcher, and carried her body out of the room, where they will lay her in a cheap casket they got from a funeral parlor. After a few hours, she will be laid in her final resting place, in an urn, after being creamted in the public crematorium.

Kensley ran her hand across her hair. She wished she could give her a proper burial in a forgotten corner in the Hillwood Cemetery. She was a worthy foe who accepted her fate wholeheartedly. A proud fallen warrior deserves a warrior's burial. But tonight's gunfight had already attracted much attention, and transporting her body to give her a proper burial would add to the list of things she needs to settle in the days after.

She holstered back her revolver and headed for the door. She paused before making her way out of the room, and gazed back on the bloodied chair where Helga was sitting few minutes ago.

"_I grew strangely fond of you, and I definitely felt sad after killing you. Damn you, bitch,_" she thought to herself, letting a bittersweet smile escape from her lips before leaving the room.

**A/N: And that the first alternate ending. Sad, huh? Yeah, I know. On the next installment, it will be another alternate ending. Don't forget to leave reviews! ^^,**


	2. Green Bird

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold!, its characters and setting, and the lyrics to the song "Green Bird" by Yoko Kano to which this chapter was named.**

**The chain-smoking, frequently-friendzoned, caffeine-addicted author of "Hillwood Noir" presents you the second installment to this three-shot series. This would be the second alternate ending to the Chapter 17. To save time, the story would be jumping straight to the scene where Neptune got Helga at gunpoint.**

**Green Bird**

She pocketed her cellphone, and pointed the muzzle of her Desert Eagle to Helga's forehead.

"You _really loved_ him, Pataki?"

"_An understatement,_" she smiled bitterly at her. "_I fucking worshipped him, you bitch."_ Kensley nodded knowingly.

"Is it time?" she asked, looking at the gleaming barrel of the revolver. Kensely nodded as she aimed her handgun right to her forehead, the muzzle an inch away from her.

"You should see yourself. You have an idea what you look like right at this moment, Helga?" Neptune smirked at her.

"What?" she asked back gruffly.

"A ravenous beast," Neptune replied. "The same blood runs through both of us. The blood of the beast who wanders, hunting for the blood of others."

"I am about to bleed all that blood away," Helga sneered at her.

"And you will no longer be alive," she smirked back, keeping the handgun pointed to her.

"Take care of him...for me..." she whispered, looking straight to the barrel of the revolver, and fixed her gaze at Kensley's amethyst orbs. Her violet eyes were now devoid of all emotions. No sadness. No joy. No anger. Just a plain, blank gaze.

"I will," Kensley softly replied.

_**CLICK!**_

"Any last words, Helga?" Kensley asked as she placed her forefinger on the trigger. A noble warrior deserves her last words to be heard, she thought.

She was silent. Then, a faint smile escaped her swollen lips as she looked straight into Kensley's eyes. She then began to hum a tune, and then started singing the seemingly nonsensical lyrics.

_Meria mortre ever greet shawel _

_Graing graing gra..._

_Mertis amoti e chest a gron tu _

_Saing saing sa..._

_Mi af marka diaon di eva green_

A scowl formed on Kensley's forehead, "What the hell was that?"

"Oh just a song I have heard long time ago. I know it's kinda random, but it just popped into my head," she grinned at her.

Neptuned gave her an annoyed look, and snorted, _"Whatever. Time to take a bow, Helga Pataki."_

_"Adieu, Helga..."_

_..._

_..._

_..._

_**BAANG!**_

_**...**_

_**...**_

_**...**_

A gunshot rang out and echoed back and forth the warehouse. Then silence.

Kensley stood motionless for minutes, her revolver still pointed at her lifeless body. She gazed at her as smoke fizzled out from the muzzle of the Desert Eagle. Her lifeless sapphire eyes still stared blankly at her, pupils dilated. The aftermath would make anybody retch, Kensley included. She heaved out, the bitter bile that built up in the pits of her stomach came gushing out of her, and on to the ground. Helga's head hung limp back, blood gushing forth freely through the gaping jagged hole on her forehead. Almost quarter of her skull had been blown off, her brain matter painted on the chair to which she was bound. And Helga still was still staring at her.

_"Dammit, stop staring at me, bitch!"_

She then holstered her revolver, and placed her palm across her face. Kensley then forced her eyelids shut, putting her in an eternal state of repose. How peaceful she looked! If not for gaping bullet hole and half-smashed skull, one would think that she just fell asleep on her chair.

Her name was Helga G. Pataki, and she will be Helga G. Pataki forever.

Kensley looked at her mutilated body, both with revulsion and pity.

_"Good night, girlfriend. Sweet dreams."_

Just as she was about to turn away from from her, she felt something roll on to her feet. She looked dow to see what it was. It was a small, ball-shaped, dull-gray, metallic object. It kinda looked like one of those Christmas balls, except this one was colored grayish green instead of bright red or green.

Kensley's eyes widened realizing hat that object was.

_"Fuck!"_

She then looked at Helga. It seemed like a slight smirk had formed on her face, and had stayed like that even after she took a bullet in her head. It is as if Helga was mocking her, even beyond death.

In Helga's cold, dead fingers, she held a safety pin. Kensley finally understood: this was Helga's final _"fuck you"_ to her. The Blonde Devil won't let her take her throne that easily. If she would go down, she would drag Kensley _down to hell_ with her.

Before Kensley could even act, a blinding white flash filled the room. Then, Kensley felt a million pins being forced into her flesh, tearing them away in the process. The pain was unberable as some unseen force sent her flying across the room. She barely felt her body landing and tumbling like a rag doll on the ground.

Then, she felt no more pain. Just cold, and peace.

**A/N: With all honestly, this is the weakest and the suckiest among the alternate endings. I threw the blatant Cowboy Bebop reference around just for lulz coz I seriously loathe this ending. The next ending however, I have to admit, is my favorite among the three alternate endings. That is something you definitely want to miss. So watch out for the next installment, "The Real Folk Blues". Meanwhile, leave reviews please. I wouldn't mind if you give scathing reviews for this chapter, as I think it was half-assed too. XD**


	3. The Real Folk Blues

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold!, its characters and setting, and the lyrics to the song "The Real Folk Blues" by Yoko Kano to which this chapter was named.**

**The chain-smoking, frequently-friendzoned, caffeine-addicted author of "Hillwood Noir" presents you the third and last installment to this three-shot series. Like I've said before, this is my personal favorite among the other endings. I originally planned this to be the "real ending" of Chapter 17, but I decided to go with the "Helga Lives" ending as this will drag the plot further, and will take the focus of the plot out of solving the mystery behind Phoebe's death. To save time, the story would be again jumping straight to the scene where, this time around, Helga got Neptune at gunpoint.**

**The Real Folk Blues**

And her words were then drowned by her sobs. Helga ended the call before any of her sobs gets recorded by his voicemail. She pocketed her cellphone, and drew out the Five Avengers from her waist holster.

"You really loved him, Kensley?"

"Who wouldn't?" she smiled bitterly at her. Helga nodded knowingly.

"Is it time?" she asked, looking at the gleaming barrel of the revolver.

Helga nodded as she aimed her revolver right to her forehead, the muzzle an inch away from her.

"Take care of him...for me..." she whispered, looking straight to the barrel of the revolver, and fixed her gaze at Helga's sapphire orbs. Her blue eyes were now devoid of all emotions. No sadness. No joy. No anger. Just a plain, blank gaze.

"I will," Helga softly replied.

_**CLICK!**_

"Any last words, Kensley?" Helga asked as she placed her forefinger on the trigger. A noble warrior deserves her last words to be heard, she thought.

She was silent. Then, a faint smile escaped her swollen lips as she looked straight into Helga's eyes.

_"Non, je ne regrette rien."_

Helga nodded a bit and replied in perfect French, _"Je ne regrette rien non plus, mon ami."_

_"Adieu, Kensley..."_

...

...

...

_**PHOOOOOOM!**_

...

...

...

A gunshot rang out and echoed back and forth the warehouse. Then silence.

**+-=NOIR=-+ +-=NOIR=-+ +-=NOIR=-+**

That night of the "deal-gone-bad" nothing but a distant memory for Helga. She continued to rule the arms black market in Hillwood and neighboring cities as well. No one dared to challenge her supremacy as the "Blonde Devil" of West Hillwood.

After receiving a mysterious voicemail message from Neptune, Arnold never saw her again. She never returned any of his calls, and the apartment was abandoned, until her things were sold by the landlord when she defaulted a few months worth of rent. She was never seen or heard ever since. Arnold tried to trace her, but to no avail. He _didn't even know_ her real name to begin with. The names that she used in her transactions were assumed names. Not even the great and infamous Fuzzy Slippers could provide any lead even with his vast network and database of information.

It took a few months of fruitless search before Arnold gave up in despair.

Devastated, Arnold sank into depression, and turned to booze to drown his sorrows away. This was where Helga stepped in to be, atleast, be a friend to him. Although past betrayals have not been fully forgiven nor forgotten, the bridge between the two of them were being rebuilt, albeit slowly but surely. Helga was doing her best to reach out to him in any way she can, while he was gracious enough to acknowledge and somehow reciprocate her gesture.

Every Friday, they made it a point would either go out to the movies, watch the opera, watch a ballgame, go out on a dinner, or just spend the nights together, snuggled to each other as they watched classic movies, and eventually sleep together. Sleep, as in sleep together. Arnold hasn't tried doing anything goofy with her.

After all, the wounds may have healed, but _scars remained_.

Each day, Helga strived to fill up the chasm that seperated them. Each day, there was progress. Arnold, in his self-righteous and goody-two-shoes nature, still would have not fully accepted Helga's place in the Westt Hillwood underworld, but nevertheless tolerated her. Everytime their conversations would steer towards the topic of Helga's "shady business", they would mutually stop and divert the conversation somewhere else.

Somewhat, inspite of their opposite nature, there was harmony in them. Yes, he is the _yang _to her _yin_. Her brash, passionate temperament complemented his cool, rational, disposition.

Things could never be more perfect, until that _fateful night_.

It was one of those usual Friday evenings that they shared in the past. They just came out of the theater after watching a cheesy chick flick, which Helga enjoyed criticizing every cliched moment, much to Arnold's chagrin who seemed to have enjoyed the movie at least. They have decided to try public transport this time, instead of taking their car. They wanted to see "the sights and sounds of the city _after dark_", although Arnold wasn't really sure what there was to see. Hillwood was the same gritty, fetid, crowded city that keeps a beautiful facade, and hides its corrupted side behind the shadows of its alleys and street corners in its inner districts.

They decide to take the subway this time. As they descended to the station, they passed a passed a Latina-looking woman with a long, straight brown hair. She was playing a guitar, the open guitar case laying on the ground, ready to accept any meager donations, from passers-by who either took the time to appreciate her music, or decided to toss a few change out of pity, or hoping to shut her up as they hurried to their daily business. Her eyes behind her black, square-framed glasses fixed and followed the blond couple as they passed in front of her. She then played a familiar Japanese jazz, which caught Arnold and Helga's attention.

_"The real folk blues _

_Honto no kanashimi ga shiritai dake _

_Doro no kawa ni tsukatta _

_Jinsei mo waruku wa nai _

_Ichido kiri de owaru nara..."_

Arnold looked at Helga, who seemed to be enjoying the female busker's jazz number. Helga then looked at Arnold and mouthed off, _not bad_. She then clapped her hand, and dropped a fifty-dollar bill on to the busker's guitar case. She graciously thanked Helga for such generous donation, and even stopped playing to shake her hands. Helga replied with a smile, and praised her performance.

They then headed to the platform where they waited for their train to the arrive. It was past eight, and there were few people who stood on the platform, waiting for the train. On the opposite side of the tracks, fewer people stood, waiting for the train bound for the opposite route. Arnold held Helga's hand as he whispered something to her, which sent Helga and giggling before she playfully slapped his arm. Then Arnold then looked at the opposite side of track, and something, rather _somebody_, caught her eye.

There she was, a blonde woman with wavy curls staring at him straight to the eye, smiling at him. No, it can't be...it's her! He could not be mistaken. Those fiery amethyst eyes, those blonde flaxen curls, that charming smile...

"Ne-Neptune...?!" Arnold dumbly mouthed off.

As if drawn by her mysterious field, his grip on Helga's loosened as he slowly stepped closer to her, going to to the other side of the platform across the tracks. Was he dreaming? This can't be happpening. She disappeared mysteriously without any proper goodbyes (except for that cryptic voicemail), and there she was, standing, within reach. How he wished to hold her again, to hear her sweet voice, her shrill laughter that sounded like crystals clinking...

_**WOOOOOOSSSSHHHHH! RRRRRRRGGGGHHHHH!**_

Arnold's reverie was broken when a train came zooming and stopped in front of him, obstructing his view of her. If not for the roaring train that zoomed and stopped on the platform, he could have stepped on the tracks, made his way across, and flew straight into her arms. He craned his neck, trying to peer past the windows and the stream of passengers who were making their way into the train. After a few minutes, the "DOOR CLOSING" alarm sounded off, and the train sped away, and she was gone...

_"Where...where did she go?!"_

The spot where she stood earlier was now empty. Was that all a dream? No, it can't be. It can't be a dream! She smiled, he swore, she smiled at him! It must be her! Those eyes, tthose curls, that smile. Neptune...

Oh how he missed her...

Without thinking twice, let go of Helga's hand, and bolted up to the stairs, and did not even notice the female busker who was there five minutes ago who was now _mysteriously missing, _and made her way to the other side of the station to find for her lost amethyst-eyed love.

"Arnold! Where are you going?! Arnold! Wait!" Helga called out in vain as she watched him run away from him. At that moment, Helga's heart sank. She felt as if her heart had been crushed by some heavy hand right at that moment. She felt her knees turn into jelly. She fell on her knees and ontoo the floor. Tears of anguish, and rage, stramed freely from her eyes and down to her cheeks. The chasm that she struggled to fill up, and the bridge she had been building to fill the gap was suddenly torn asunder.

There she was, back to square one.

Just when she just thought that Neptune, or Kensley, was just a cheap blonde

substitute for her that Arnold have chosen. It turns out to be that _she_ was the _blonde substitute_ for Kensley.

Karma's a bitch.

She let out an angry scream. She didn't care of all the people in the station would look down at her in pity. Yes, she was to be pitied after all. She cursed her kindness that she have shown. She cursed her compassion, unable to bear the sight of her in tears. She cursed her sympathy.

Because of those, she chose to fire her revolver to the air, instead of sending the slug into her skull and blasting out her brains out.

And now she's back. And just like that, she snatched away her beloved Arnold.

"_Fat chance, girlfriend_."

She composed herself, and stood up. After dusting off her dress, she picked out her cellphone from her purse, and dialled Sid's number.

"Hello Sid? she tried her best to hide her sobs. "The _whore_ is back. We got work to do."

**A/N: And that concludes this three-shot. If any of you wants to develop any of these three endings into a full fic, just let me know so I could help. ^^, R & R ^^,**


End file.
